


Dangerous Songs

by Dreamwhisper, margdean56



Series: Tower Mountain/New Hope stories [15]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: Gen, New Hope, Peysol, Tower Mountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamwhisper/pseuds/Dreamwhisper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/margdean56/pseuds/margdean56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years after the end of New Hope's hostage crisis, the Hidden Valley settlement that once precipitated it have petitioned New Hope for healing for their catatonic leader.  But the Council of Elders decides matters by consensus, and there's at least one holdout...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Songs

NH 238

The early morning sunlight shone directly on the small side porch of Startide, lending it warmth despite the increasing chill of the autumn air. Nineki shifted on the wide-seated swing Tobuk had made with the hedonistically plump red cushions Xylene sent her from Tower Mountain, so the sun wasn't in her eyes. She was making a necklace of amber beads interspersed with white pearls—a promised commission for Keemara. It kept her hands and her mind busy. There was a Council meeting tonight—another one—and the Household was thick with tension.

Like every other Household, she expected.

The baby kicked, jarring her work. "An art critic already, are we?" Nineki murmured as she rescued the bag of beads from spilling.

"Your mother said the same thing about you once," Peysol said.

Nineki started; she hadn't heard her father approach, and he hadn't sent. Peysol leaned on the porch railing. "I'm sorry," Nineki said, setting aside her beading. "I didn't realize you were there."

"I haven't been for very long. I was just watching you work. I hope you slept well?" The tone of the question made it clear that for Peysol it was just a polite conversational opening, but the sight of his face gave it an ironic twist, because it was quite obvious to Nineki that her father had slept badly if he'd slept at all. He was well-groomed as usual, clothes unrumpled and hair neatly combed, but the clear sunlight plainly revealed lines and hollows of weariness and anxiety.

"Fairly well," she answered carefully. "Though you look like you were sleeping under Goldfinger's forge." She patted the cushion next to her. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Thank you." Peysol stepped up on the porch and lowered himself onto the cushions carefully to avoid jostling Nineki's beadwork. He sighed. "Does it show that much?" He laced his fingers together across his knees and looked at them unseeingly as he spoke. "Nineki ... there are some things I can't ask in Council. Why ... why are you so vehement about sending Doleera away?"

Only days ago, three exhausted hawks had arrived at New Hope, bearing a small and desperate contingent of elves from the Hidden Valley. With them they brought the body of their leader, Doleera; a body that lived, but neither moved, spoke, nor responded to sending. Their request for New Hope's help in healing their Stormrider—the very elf who had attacked New Hope less than two eights ago, taken hostages from among its Elders, and extracted tribute from the settlement during the subsequent four years—touched off a storm of controversy in the Council of Elders.

That, perhaps, was to be expected. What had not been expected—had stunned everyone into disbelieving silence—was Nineki's simple, quiet response to Peysol's impassioned plea for Doleera's life:

"No."

Startide's Elder was as unyielding as stone, unopen to discussion, unmoved by logic or the emotions of others in all the debates and outright arguing since ... not at all the evenhanded, deliberative participant she'd been in every Council previous.

Nineki tensed briefly, then relaxed. She'd known, somehow, since seeing her father, what had brought him here. She kept her eyes on the necklace, adjusting the beads. "Because she's trouble." Her voice was flat, even to her own ears; out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Peysol wince. "Trouble New Hope does not need."

"Right now she's _in_ trouble," Peysol replied, "deep and desperate trouble, possibly the deepest an elf can get into. And we've been asked to help."

"Do we need to put ourselves at risk to dig her out of the hole she put herself in?" Nineki strung three more pearls, then added an amber bead. "As I said, why not let her people tend her? Or, if they can't—" Nineki looked at her father. "—their dear friend Arteuran? I doubt he could claim political restrictions this time."

"Arteuran is in mourning for Kozheraruu," Peysol said quietly, still looking down at his interlaced hands. "I wouldn't—he can't be expected to take on an arduous healing right now." He frowned, though not at her. "And the politics are not the best, either. The new Radiance—Ilesaru—is not the friend to Doleera that Kozheraruu was."

"He could do it if he wanted to," Nineki said stubbornly. "He's as much a god to the Taiakaari as Doleera—" The name was shaded with loathing. "—is to the Neiali'Cin. If Kozheraruu was that much a friend to Doleera, then healing her would be a better tribute to Kozheraruu's memory than any amount of kneeling and wailing." She gathered more pearls from the bag, sorting them by touch, saying, before Peysol could respond, "Yes, the Brightcolor elves asked ... asked for help they have no right to for one we have no reason to aid!"

Peysol looked at her. "No right? When they've been peacefully trading with us for eight years now? But for the sake of argument—" He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "—no right. No more 'right' than the stranger at our doorstep—but when have we ever turned away such? When have we needed a reason apart from 'All are blessed and worthy of love'?"

Nineki was silent for a moment. "Peacefully trading," she repeated. "— _peacefully trading_ —" She bit off whatever was next on her tongue. "With strangers you don't _know_ they're going to stab you in the back at the next opportunity."

"I can't quite see Desertwind stabbing anyone in the back, but I know you're not talking about her." Peysol leaned back against the cushions. "All right, let's talk about Doleera. I've had this argument with her before, from the other end. She takes it for granted that everyone's reaction to her is going to be exactly what you're voicing now. She's convinced herself that it's useless to ask anyone for help because no one would ever give it to her. That's how she rationalized the hostage taking. If we refuse to help her now, and she's somehow healed anyway, that belief of hers will be vindicated. Her sense of injury will grow and that will be one less reason for her to care if she hurts us. Whereas if we offer our help for no reason other than the fact that it's the right thing to do, we turn her expectations on their ear and make her face up to the fact that she caused injury when she didn't need to."

"If not asking for reimbursement of food, if trading with them all this time hasn't turned her expectations on their ear, Peysol, what will? She won't see it as 'no reason'. All she'll know is we saw her weak, and helpless. She'll twist that humiliation around to give her an excuse to do what she wants, whenever she wants—and blame us for it!" Nineki's hands shook as she tried to string more pearls. "Maybe the Hidden Valley elves couldn't heal her ... or maybe _they_ didn't want to. Desertwind and the hawkriders may think she's the best thing since Peranne's cookies, but I get the feeling Stormrider's charisma and leadership's been—deflated in the last eight-and-one years."

Peysol nodded. "Very likely, if this has been building up inside her all that time, and possibly earlier. A collapse like that doesn't happen in a day, or a year, or even a hand of years. Healing it ... if it can be healed ... is something not just any healer can do. It takes special skill and special training, which the Hidden Valley healers just don't have."

He gave Nineki a direct look. "And it's too late to unsee what we've seen already. Do you expect to be able to conceal the fact that Doleera was brought here initially, even if we send her away again? If she's angered by the fact that we witnessed her helplessness— _if_ she is—then the knowledge that we saw her that way and left her to rot will only make things worse."

"So we're cursed if we do and cursed if we don’t. Why bother, then?" Nineki took a deep breath. "Peysol ... have you ever thought that it might be better just to let her die? For everyone, including Doleera?"

"Palace, _NO!_ " It was a cry of pain. All the lines and shadows Nineki had already seen in her father's face seemed to go deeper. "Release a soul that crippled into the timeless ... where healing might no longer be possible... We just don't know enough. If she can't be healed, then perhaps—better that than the prison she's in now. But not when there's still hope ... still a chance."

Nineki was quiet for a long moment; she shook the bag of pearls, picked out one or two, put them back. "I don't think there is much chance," she said quietly. "I'm not a healer, as Dove repeatedly reminded me ... but she repeatedly avoided my question. What next? Doleera isn't insane, as Lake or Tyaar was. Will she change? I doubt it. I don't think she can."

"Then you're wrong. There is no way that someone's mind can shatter that badly and then go back together just the way it was before. Doleera will change, after this, and if Dove is being evasive it's probably because there is no way she can predict how, or how much."

"I don't mean her mind, Peysol," Nineki said irritably. She dug into the pouch for a handful of pearls and cupped them in her palm. "I mean her _self_. How long are we going to carry a snake across the river?" Nineki speared the pearls with her needle, unsteadily. "She was exiled from the Tower, and she didn't change. She got the power she always wanted from a tribe of elves who cursed near worshipped her, and she didn't change. She Recognized and had Starling, and she didn't change. Beliel and his filthy brat raped Ceyte and Crystel and Doreel and Vallaree, and she didn't change. Beliel tortured and murdered Geibryl and Evanda, and she didn't change. Nalkor turned into some twisted mirror-image of himself, Doreel lost his mind, _you_ nearly died, our home became a prison camp, Rahirah still can't talk right, I killed someone and Doleera. Did. Not. _Change!_ She waltzed into Autumnfest, denying responsibility for anything that happened with one side of her mouth and making veiled threats with the other!

"And you wonder why I want her gone?!"

"All right." Peysol took a deep breath. "All right, from your point of view, from what you've seen and heard, I don't wonder at it. But you've only seen the last handspan of her life. Doleera can change ... she has changed. She was once a little girl, too..." His voice caught. Nineki hunched in on herself, and she turned to the side slightly. Peysol said, "Anyway, Nineki, what do you mean, 'how long'? How many times—when have we had the chance to carry this particular snake over the river? If you mean by that an act of pure generosity. How do we know how she'll react? If she's ever in any state to react to anything again," he added bleakly.

"When haven't we, these last nine years? Let's heal Doleera after the battle. Let's trade with them. Let's not talk about how we feel about Doleera and Hidden Valley—it'll hurt Peysol's feelings." Peysol gave her a sharp look at that, frowning, but Nineki plunged on. "Let's invite them to Autumnfest—did you even notice that Jasher stayed away for nearly all of the festival, that first time? Or that Piper had nightmares? You can't be that oblivious to what's going on!

"Yes, Doleera was a little girl once ... and she grew up into someone that wasn't so sweet anymore. Starling was an absolute brat when she showed up here, and she grew up into someone I could call tribemate." Nineki blinked, apparently surprised at herself. "I don't know what happened between Doleera and her parents, or anyone else in the Tower. But Doleera's not a little girl anymore. You can't judge her now because you remember what she was then. If who you are as a child determined who you are as an adult, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Nineki paused to take an amber bead from its bag. "Peysol ... Father ... maybe Doleera's done what she's done because that's who she is, and nothing Dove or Charise can do will change that. You're looking at the past, and I'm looking at the future."

" _NO! You_ are looking at the past—what has been. _I_ am looking at the future—what _could_ be." Peysol gave a crack of bitter laughter. "But no, that's the wrong way about, isn't it? Isn't it supposed to be the elders who cling to tradition, the old views, the old ways, and the younger generation who look to a bright future? Wasn't that what we hoped for when we came here, that our children could have a better life, and we could shake _free_ of the past?"

"You're searching for a future you want so desperately to happen you're willing to overlook what you know in the here and now!" Nineki snapped, setting down her work on the small table next to her, hard enough that some of the pearls bounced free of their pouch. "Because you love her," she muttered, awkwardly scooping up the wayward gems. "And here I thought I only had one sister to compete with..."

"Nineki..." Peysol stooped, his quick hands gathering up a few pearls his pregnant daughter couldn't reach. He put them into her hands with the others, using the opportunity to fold her hands in his and induce her to look into his face. Tears stood in his eyes. "Yes. I do love Doleera, as a friend ... perhaps even as a daughter, as you say. There were never enough children to go around, in the Tower. But Nineki, my very dear ... don't you think I would go as far, fight as hard or harder, to reclaim you if you had gone as far astray as she has? I can't tell you how glad I am that I haven't needed to—that you've grown up into an elf I can be proud of. A skilled shaper and crafter, an Elder of your own household, soon to be a mother. I don't like to see all that tainted by hatred and bitterness."

Nineki stared at her father, tears in her own eyes. "I can't..." she said at last, pulling away from him. "I can't let go. I have tried, and tried, and tried to be accepting and forgiving ... and I can't. Not in this. Tyaar, and Doleera, and Dove when she was Lake ... they reflect what Bone called the shadow side of a person for you. They're evil for you, so you don't have to be. It's easy for you, because of that."

Peysol's eyebrows flicked upward in surprise and he sat back on the cushions again. "That's an interesting idea," he said in a tone Nineki recognized from many Council discussions. It meant, more or less, _I may pursue that later, but I'm not going to let it lure me away from the main point._ "There's also the fact that I've seen their bright sides too, seen them as people rather than icons, lived with them day to day. But I'm not sure it matters. Nineki, I know you can't force feelings. I'm not asking you to try, or to deny how you feel. But you are in control of your will and your actions, and you can choose to throw those behind your feelings ... or not."

Nineki closed her eyes, opened them, dropped the pearls into their pouch. "Doleera's not an icon to me, good or bad." She did not look at Peysol again as she folded her hands over her swollen belly. "She's made bad—stupid, criminally stupid—choices her entire life, and looked for someone else to blame or save her from them." Nineki's voice was calm, as if they were discussing what flowers to plant in the Greenwillow gardens. "She's shown a repeated lack of gratitude or trust for those who have helped her ... or tried to approach her. Ask Davrille, sometime. Aside from her Stormriders and Starling, the only person she seems to have fellow-feeling for is Ayla ... and even that may not be true anymore. Assuming Beliel hasn't been eaten by bears or killed by dysentery, he's still alive. If he encounters Doleera, will she try to finish what she started? Or will she only see him as a way to garner more power if she keeps him on an extremely short leash?

"If she had ever shown any regret, any sign of accepting responsibility for what happened—" Nineki clenched her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Geibryl's 'return', Jand's 'honor guard' ... the only message sent was that Doleera didn't care!"

"She's tried to convince herself all along that she didn't," Peysol agreed somberly. "That she didn't need anyone, that she was the untouchable Stormrider. But she's failed. Otherwise she wouldn't be in the state she's in. If she truly didn't care anything about the suffering and death she's caused, if there was no regret in her anywhere for any of her actions, we wouldn't have a drooling ragdoll in our infirmary at this very moment. She rationalized, she made excuses, she denied, she wrapped all her pain and guilt into neat little packages of self-justification and shoved them down into the bottom of her mind, sealed down the lid and sat on it. But they don't go away, that kind, they ferment. Sandstorm's death was the crack in the vessel, I imagine—and that was all it took. It all blew apart into little pieces. And even if the pieces can be put back together, what they contained ... isn't contained anymore. She's going to have to deal with it some other way. All the pain and all the guilt."

Nineki ran a hand through her sable brown hair. When she next spoke, her voice contained a harshness Peysol had never heard before. "It's her pain and her guilt. Let her deal with it." The rockshaper covered her eyes briefly, rubbing them. "Why won't anyone listen to me? I feel like I'm shouting into a well and not even hearing echoes! Dove and Charise may be able to heal Doleera, but will that change her? From what both of them have oh-so-very-discreetly not said, no, it won't. Will it give her a chance to truly reform? And if it does, would she take it? Everyone hems and haws!"

"Because nobody knows! Healing a mind isn't like fixing a broken leg! It's far more complicated, delicate and chancy ... and within it there is a _free soul!_ Who always has a choice to go down a different path than it did the last eight or square or cube of times!"

"That's my point! We don't know, and all we have to decide on is how she's reacted in the past! But no one else will admit that! Why? And why didn't she take those other paths, Peysol? Was the Tower so wretched to her and Silara such a heartless pain-giver that both home and mother combined warped her ability to think and analyze and judge?! Steelspun's parents treated him far, far worse than Doleera could imagine, and he's a better person than she could ever hope to be!"

"And Beliel's parents didn't treat him any worse than Doleera's mother did her, and he's a far worse person than I hope I ever see again. What made him that way? I don't know! Any more than I can tell what motivated Doleera. That may be one of the things Dove and Charise find out something about in the process of healing her. But don't you see it's useless to try to base actions on what might or might not happen in the future, on what someone—some person—might or might not do? We can't predict ... so we have to fall back on what we know in our hearts is right."

Nineki drew in on herself, wrapping her arms around what was left of her waist. "Your heart tells you healing Doleera is right, Peysol, but mine's telling me something completely different!" She sounded on the verge of tears.

"Does it, Nineki?" Peysol spoke softly, urgently. "Your heart? Not your feelings, not your emotions, I'm not talking about that ... the still, small core of your soul that listens for the song of the world and knows what's in harmony with it and what's not."

**I don't know anymore!** The sending burst into Peysol's mind like a shooting star, trailing pain and jealousy and loss and fear and a desperate, brightmetal-sharp determination in its wake. **I don't know!**

**Oh, my dear...** Peysol's sending, too, shimmered with pain as he wrapped his arms around Nineki, flickered with grief and anxiety and regret and an aching love. **I'm sorry ... so sorry you came in for all this, other people's past mistakes and hatreds and rages erupting into your life. You never did anything to deserve any of it. But—** He paused, as if on the verge of something, and then shook his head. **Just listen. Put it all aside, if you can ... reach past it, beyond it, inside it, all the screams and cries and clamor, and listen. That's all I have a right to ask for. Listen.**

"I don't know if I can," Nineki said, her voice cracking, though she relaxed into Peysol's hold. "It's all in my head and it won't go away."

"And you think that if we send Doleera away, that will banish the voices too?" Peysol asked gently, still cradling Nineki in his arms.

"I don't—I—I—" Nineki tensed and another sending engulfed Peysol's mind, sight and sound and feeling all at once, intertwined—

**home not home anymore need to keep calm keep Emerel Quicksilver calm Vanjir too can't do anything stupid one free mistake (fist connecting with flesh againandagainandAGAIN hate you hate youHATEYOU!ISAIDNO!) Geibryl's body in that tiny, tinybox (FRODIS RAEL WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! THEY'RE NOT LIKE US AT ALL!) (Could have stopped them if she'd been home instead of safe at Tower)

—Chilly night spent waiting and waiting in the woods for rotten[him] cruel[her] stupid[him] dangerous [him] the invaders to go to sleep and sneak back home have news not good not good at all but better than nothing (and Quicksilver's horse-scent, more salves for Tinker)—

—choir forbidden can't sing unless song for 'protectors' Emerel wants to can't let him he'll make it worse we're not a choir just singing at same time—

—Starling was out of the pillar and breathing and she wanted to be sick (beliel wrongwrongwrongWRONG) and she couldn't hear for all the screaming but she could see someone coming at her from the side and—

—spur of rock stabbing through Viper's back and out her belly like a needle through cloth oh High Ones her face why doesn't she drop the spear? her face the sounds she sounds like like like nothing sane o high ones her face (like a fish, like a fish) i'm sorry i'm sorry why is it taking her so long to die want to help can't move her face her face

—They are all home and together why aren't things normal? Leravie mad/sad/furious at Peysol/Peysol's soulbrother Arteuran (couldn't they have waited bad timing) have to be strong support them don't need to tell them now (Viper's face at night, in bath, underwater, everywhere) 

—running down a beach a ways from New Hope can't breathe there everything wrong whywhywhy? Pounding on sand screaming till throat raw and eyes hurt gather clams/kelp/rock something for everyone to see, can't show them this, never show them this

—Startide beautiful wonderful ours home quiet talk with Frodis the war there but not there almost think we can help each other

—Mistkit born (will he make as much a fuss over me why doesn't he look at me the way Raventongue looks at Snowflower)

—Autumnfest THEY'RE here want to throw them out away want to be sick can't stand them hate them go AWAY have to deal with them (her face, her face) can't ask Chimreh, me and Tobuk Piet if you offer them our House I'll slap you! Can't sing for them ignore Doleera can't talk to Starling (turned out well Peysol says?!) Have to tell him can't can't can'tcan't can't he wants so badly to believe them

—Recognition celebration Leravie(mother) Peysol(father) so happy so proud (is it the same is it is it)

—Hawks not ours not Tower's HIDDEN VALLEY what do they want Doleera nothing there at all so? better this way Father why are you crying (Dove, Peysol-daughter Doleera Peysol-daughter me...????) Healing they want healing for Doleera WRONGWRONGWRONG All her fault everything her fault Rahirah can't talk right Rael Evanda Geibryl dead Sivto Leaf (I still walk on pieces of dead people Nineki)let HER hurthurthurtHURT!**

**Nineki ... precious girl, oh my dear ... why did you never...?** Tears ran freely down Peysol's face, his grip tight around his daughter—she felt something shudder through him that might be a sob or a bitter laugh. **...wish people didn't feel the need to protect me all the time ("contemplation" indeed!) (wish I could have protected you) (A voice from the past, harsh, bitter, pain-filled, the voice of a young boy: "You can't protect me! You can't protect anyone!!") ( _Give him back his innocence in exchange for mine._ ) (but it didn't work really it never works) ("You can't protect them, you can't keep them...") (can't can't can't hold too tight walls too high and rot sets in) my precious, precious girl I can help bear the pain _share_ the pain you don't need to be strong for me Nineki...** Words failed; he just held her, letting the tears fall.

Nineki was crying as well, burrowing against Peysol as she hadn't since she was very small. She said nothing for what felt like a very long time, then ventured, quietly, **I'll try. I can't ... can't make any promises right now ... can't say I won't—won't still hate her (didn't think I'd like her much anyway, too different) but ... Father, I'll try.** Nineki rubbed her face and eyes. **Need ... (image of the old seesaw Xylene had made for the holt's children, with Nineki on one end and Peysol on the other ... but the seesaw changed to Doleera) ... balance. Like when (her and Snowflower scowling at a grinning, out-of-reach pest) Quicksilver used to stand in the middle.**

Peysol managed a rather watery chuckle at the image. **Balance. That's about all we can hope for, isn't it? The repose of a very delicate balance. Because the world doesn't let you stand still, and sometimes one fall can lose all... (slippery teetery log sloshing in the bay, self on one end staring into mocking grey eyes Starblade arrogant rival Outsider Recognized _Leravie MY lifemate_ hot sun cold spray I'm a dancer I can do this curse it stay _balanced_ three out of three but he's just that much quicker stronger NO!!! falling cold shock wet despair loss _Leravie_ ) ...and sometimes not. (rival rejected turning away leaving great brown eyes turning to mine hopeful/fearful bruised hand outstretched, take it very gently oh joy love _Leravie MY lifemate_ ) Sometimes it's up to us to decide.**

**So that's how it happened,** Nineki mused. **You never told me before, you realize that? Heard it from Mother, and Mikail and Seahawk (can't imagine you making speech as you fall off log), but never you.** She shifted in Peysol's hold so she could lean against the back of the swing, but his arm was still around her shoulder. **I don't like making snap decisions. I don't like not knowing _why_ I make them even more (tentative edging around the echo of painlossgrieffury—not healed, not even close to healed but lanced now like Reevirah treating Mraal patient's infected wound later yes more not now good thing Emerel asleep like a drunken troll)** "Rahirah wanted me to reshape some of Trailingstar's flagstones," she said aloud. "I might do that later, after lunch. I like sitting in Piet's gardens lately." She looked sideways at Peysol, her mouth hinting at a smile. "Ivraen's cookies are as good as Peranne's."

"Is that an offer?" Peysol's smile was more than a hint. "I think I'll take you up on it. And if you want that particular story from me, I'll be glad to tell it to you ... now." In a lower voice he added, "You _are_ my daughter, Nineki, don't ever doubt it. I called challenge for the right to be your father. Among other things." He rose from the swing and extended a hand to help her up.

Nineki took his hand, not for the first time wishing she could glide. **I know,** she answered. There was still Council to get through; she might have been the most vocal objector to Doleera's presence, but she was not the only one. She would deal with that when she had to ... but not right now.

"Cookies aren't for breakfast, Peysol," she intoned, doing her best mock-Shadaln-in-high-dudgeon. "Though I'm certain I can sneak some in between the scrambled eggs and sliced pears."

He grinned. "I think you're going to make somebody a good mother," he said, following her into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> This story got its start as an email "conversation" between my co-author's character (Nineki) and my character (Peysol). It's one of the few such conversations that shaped itself into an actual story.


End file.
